


i'll never love again; i'm so in love with you

by electronicphilharmonic



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, LayClaire, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electronicphilharmonic/pseuds/electronicphilharmonic
Summary: Hershel loves Claire - loves her more than the whole world; but the last time he fell in love, it ended in disaster, and he's scared of what could happen if he gets too close to her.
Relationships: Claire/Hershel Layton
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	i'll never love again; i'm so in love with you

Hershel was at the library late that night; he almost always was. The only thing that got his nose out of his archaeology textbooks was the promise of Claire waiting at the door - and that was just what he gets; as soon as he opens the door to his campus flat, the voice of his girlfriend greets him. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing, staying at the library so late?”

Into loving arms and a peck on the cheek he’s welcomed home by Claire, who’s teasing voice makes Hershel’s heart skip a beat. She always makes him feel that way, in everything she does and everything she says. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Hershel says, hanging his hat up on the coat hanger. “I got a little too carried away in my studies.” 

Claire laughs ever so lightly, a sound that brings warmth to Hershel’s cheeks. She helps him remove his coat as she speaks, chuckling at the way his arm gets stuck and rubbing his back with a free hand. “Oh? And what was it that caught your interest this time? Last time, it was Mycenaean death masks.”

Leaning against the oakwood table, Hershel watches the way she focuses on him so intently. Aside from Clark and his parents, he doesn’t bother talking about archaeology to anyone; his enthusiasm for the subject tends to be a little annoying, he tells himself, so he keeps his interest stifled under idle conversation and piles of homework. But Claire never minds how long he could ramble about any civilization - from the Aztecs to the Romans; she listens with intrigue every time, and loves it almost more than he does. It’s the little things, he thinks, that make her so loveable. 

“I was reading about ancient music this time - the Hurrian hymns, mainly,” he mumbles, scratching at his cheek. “They’re interesting.”

“Tell me about it!” She says with a smile, pulling a chair out from below the table. He follows her move, sitting down at the table and fiddling with an apple that was left sitting out. 

“Well, they’re written on cuneiform in an Akkadian style sheet music, mostly dedicated to gods of the time. Along with the music, they had tuning instructions and the composers’ names written as well.” With every word that leaves him, he’s careful to watch Claire; her expression of wonder is an invitation to keep going, and he does. His explanations are filled with tangents for the most part, whenever Claire asks a question, but he doesn’t mind - it just gives him an excuse to continue.

Eventually, Claire sits up a bit, taken by a thought she’s eager to share. 

“Oh, I just remembered! Speaking of music, I got a new record the other day!” She exclaims, standing up as she does so. Quickly, she walks over to the shelf by the open window, shuffling through the record sleeves lying in a towering pile next to her record player. Hershel follows her, thumbing through sleeves she’s thrown aside and reading them - _The Atomic Mr. Basie, Glenn Miller Orchestra, Nat King Cole_ \- before setting them in a neater stack than they were left in. “Dimitri was telling me how much he likes oldies the other day, and let me listen to one. I went out and bought a copy from the record shop after work!”

She pulls the record from her collection - a Tommy Dorsey classic Hershel's heard his mother play about a million times before - and slips it onto her Dansette. "It’s a lovely tune," she comments with a glance his way. Hershel had never found much interest in slow songs before, but if Claire loves it, he can take the time to find her within the melody and love it, too. 

It takes a moment, static grumbling, before the first notes of the song make its presence. The soft vibraphone tones resonate between the two, and with the music filling the place their words would occupy, they meet in the middle, dancing; it’s little more than swaying to the beat and holding each other close, but for now, it’s all they could ask for. The rest of the world melts away - the only things that exist to Hershel are the butterflies in his stomach and Claire’s gentle breathing as she rests her head on his shoulder.

He’s never been one for physical contact - not when he was a child, and not now, either; but the way Claire feels so light against his chest, making sure he’s comfortable as soon as she touches him - for once, he thinks, a little embrace wouldn’t hurt so bad. 

Outside the open window above the dresser, fireflies dimly light the humid air, like stars falling from the sky. The buzz of Gressenheller that keeps the two on their toes all day is dying out now, replaced with the lull of the music and the company of the other. London is a little more distant than before; to Hershel, their flat is the only place in the world, and Claire is all that matters.

Hershel may be silent as he holds her close, but his mind is running a mile a minute. When was the last time he held someone like this; when was the last time he loved someone like this? She was an oddity, so unlike anyone that had ever gotten close to him - and it _scares_ him, because every time he loves someone, he loses them. It’s a horrible thought, one that makes his stomach twist, but he’s believed it to be fact for too long now to shake that fear away. Ever since he watched Randall fall, disappearing into an inky abyss, he’s built walls; he swore that no one would get as close to him as he did, or else they’d succumb to some awful fate as well.

But Claire was different; Claire tore those walls down, faster than he’d expected. Ever since Clark introduced her to him on a whim, she had worked so hard on digging for the personality Hershel had long since buried. And, before he knew it, he was no longer the nameless young man that sat in the front of the lecture hall filling out crosswords; he’s Claire’s cool new boyfriend _,_ the one that can sword fight, the one that can solve any puzzle given to him - He’s Hershel Layton, and the most important thing in the world to him is the woman in his arms and the way she makes him so, so happy.

He steals a glance her way; her eyes are closed as she takes in the music, resting against his shoulder. She looks so peaceful. For a moment, he debates on whether he should say anything, but he quickly swallows his anxiety and holds her a little tighter, thumb fumbling with a lock of ginger hair.

"Claire, you - you know I love you, right?" His voice is soft; his cheeks burn red. To be so open around another was something he hadn't ever done since he last saw Randall; to say the words 'i love you' meant tragedy was just around the corner, a cruel twist that Lady Luck would curse him with yet again.

Claire hums, and he feels the vibrations of her voice against his chest. She's warm, warmer than anyone Hershel had ever held before - maybe it's the rosey cheeks, or how openly she carries her joy, or the way she looks at him so softly - but she's _warm, comforting_ , _kind,_ so much that Hershel feels he could catch fire. 

"Of course I know," she says, voice ghosting on a laugh. "And I love you, too." 

“No, I…I _love_ you, very much. And,” he glances down at the floor; the way her eyes gleam as she listens to him talk is a bit too much for him to bear right now. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Claire analyzes his face, the same way she analyzes her scientific papers or her physics homework; there’s something glittering deep within that charcoal hue that gives way to her heart, a little glow showcasing her care. Her hand reaches up, lingering on Hershel’s cheek. 

“Hershel…” She says with a gentle tone. There’s love in her fingertips and love in her eyes and love in her heart and Hershel can’t get enough of it. His hand envelopes her own, and he nestles into it. “I love you. Why wouldn’t I? You’re sweet and kind and everything in between.” 

The words resonate in Hershel’s mind, but his anxieties are quick to stifle them. No matter how much he thinks on them, he can’t convince himself; it’s like Randall all over again, falling, falling, falling, and he can’t fully grasp his hand before he’s gone.

\-- but this is Claire, and Claire isn’t in the ruins. She’s here, _now_ , and he has to hold her tight so nothing happens to her. 

“I...when I’m with you, I feel so happy, as if nothing else in the world matters - and I haven’t felt that way in a very long time,” he explains, tucking his head between curls of fiery red hair. He takes a deep breath; Claire smells of gingerbread, cinnamon, a cozy scent of _home-sweet-home_ that he can lose himself in. “But...it worries me.”

“Why?” She asks, concern evident on her tongue. “Am I making you uncomfortable? What is it?” 

“No - goodness, no, you aren’t making me uncomfortable!” He says, pushing away a lock of hair from her cheek. She leans into his hold. “I’m...oh, it’s silly.” 

“No, it isn’t. Tell me what’s bothering you.” Claire eyes him, a steely focus that brings him to speak. It was her talent, it seemed, to get Hershel to always say what’s on his mind; he couldn’t bottle up his feelings when she’s around, and this time is no different, either. 

Forcing back his fear, he sighs, letting the flow of the music usher his words out. “I’m worried over silly things. The last time I got so close to someone… bad things happened to him. I’m just...I feel as if I’m cursed in some way, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, it’s such a childish thought--”

“Hershel Layton, you are _not_ cursed.” Claire’s voice is filled with a sternness that takes him by surprise as she interrupts. For as long as he’s known her, he’s never heard her so gravely serious. “I know for a fact that you are not cursed, because I feel blessed every day I spend by your side! You’re a wonderful person, Hershel, and everything you’re worried about is in the past. I love you, Hershel, and nothing can change that - nothing at all.” 

Stunned, Hershel stares. Claire’s focusing on him with a tender, sincere gaze.

“Claire…”

It takes a moment, but it’s all he needs to cave in. His arms wrap around her, a hug tighter than anything he’s ever given - or received - before, one that says _thank you_ without being heard. Claire returns the favor, drawing circles on his shoulder blade with her finger. He’s shaking, shivering in the presence of her warmth, holding on like there’s no tomorrow. 

And, in the embrace of the one he loves, in the home he’s made for himself, happiness bubble up deep inside Hershel. It’s a strange thing, the way she makes him such an open, loving person. She’s unlike any other person he’s ever met, so carefree and loving, so unapologetically _her;_ at first, he couldn’t understand it, but now, by some strange miracle, he knows. And he hopes that, in some way, he’s done the same to her; made her better, different - though, he isn't sure how she could possible get any better when she's already perfect as is. 

The record on the Dansette strings out one last harmony, a final chord, until static replaces where the song was only moments before. The world is distant, the chirp of the crickets far away, and their hearts a little closer than they were before. 

"I love you, Hershel," Claire whispers into his shoulder, warm and bright and loving. 

"I love you, too."


End file.
